


The Devil Went Down to Blood Gulch

by SoloShikigami



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Boys Kissing, M/M, Songfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-20
Updated: 2016-05-20
Packaged: 2018-06-09 12:35:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6907462
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SoloShikigami/pseuds/SoloShikigami
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Grif and Simmons are bored and they make an interesting discovery about one another.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Devil Went Down to Blood Gulch

**Author's Note:**

> This was first published on a Red vs. Blue slash Livejournal Community back in 2009.  
> Sorry the formatting is a little weird.

            Grif strummed on his ukulele almost absently. It was a quiet day, nothing seemed to be going on at the Blue Base, Sarge had taken Donut on a round of patrol, and Grif wasn't into baking out in the sun.  
            He knew Simmons was out there and he wondered how long he had before he came looking.  
            The thought passed a moment too soon.  
            "Grif! What are you doing? You're supposed to be helping me keep an eye on things!"  
            Grif looked up. "Oh, come on, Simmons, give me a break. Nothing's going to happen, nothing ever happens."  
            "First of all, the last time you said that, the chick in the black armor nearly killed Donut."  
            "Yeah, but that was funny. Kind of."

            "Secondly, Sarge left me in charge while he was gone. What I say goes, now get up there!"  
            "Kiss ass," Grif grumbled.  
  
            A few minutes later, Grif was sitting on top of the base, leaning against a wall, his instrument still in his hands being strummed by his fingers. His gloves and helmet were off. A fuming Simmons was barely two feet away.  
            "What are you doing? Put that thing away and put the rest of your armor on," Simmons demanded.  
            "You know, people are more inclined to cooperate if you're polite to them," Grif said casually.  
            "I'm not asking you, I am telling you."  
            Grif ignored him.  
            Simmons sighed. "Would you _please_ put that thing away and get your armor on. _Please_.”  
            "No."  
            "You're such an asshole."  
            "Simmons, seriously, relax."  
            A grumbled sigh was heard and the maroon armored soldier left to go about his business.

 

            A half an hour passed by and Simmons found himself getting bored. He glanced over at Grif, who still sat strumming the small instrument, helmet and gloves off, not looking bored at all.

            Simmons sighed. It wasn't so bad, right? He could multi-task, he could keep an eye out while doing something to keep himself from going crazy. He slipped inside the base, pulled a case from under his bed and brought it outside. He sat next to Grif, who stopped strumming to watch him as he opened the black case.

            “You can fiddle?” Grif asked, his eyes roaming over the slightly worn, honey-brown instrument.

            “No, this is a violin, dumb ass,” Simmons said primly as he lifted the bow and began to examine it.

            Grif couldn't help smiling. “Man, and here I thought you were a dork before. How long have you been playing?”

            Simmons' face turned red, but he ignored it in favor of scowling. “If you must know, since I was ten.”

            Grif chuckled. “Man, you really are a nerd.”

            “Fuck you. How long have you been playing, smart ass?”

            “I think I was about the same age, but all nerds are in the orchestra.”

            Simmons turned up his nose and continued to prep his instrument. Bow rosined, strings checked, instrument tuned, he tucked the one end under his chin and began to play.

            It was a slow, almost somber tune, but one that allowed him to hit every note to make sure each was as clear as the last. Grif listened politely and nodded his head when Simmons was done.

            “Nice,” Grif commented.

            “Thanks.”

            Grif strummed out a quicker tune, a favorite song one of his uncles taught him. Grif forgot the words that went along, but he knew the song had something to do with dolphins leaping in the ocean.

            Simmons nodded his approval, picked up his violin and played a quick, upbeat song as well. Grif strummed along. Once they were finished, Grif picked a song and Simmons played along.

            They exchanged songs for a while, some familiar, some not, each had to admit the other was good at what they did.

            Grif, of course, had to issue a challenge.

            “Ever hear of Charles Daniels?”

            Simmons' eyes flashed. “'The Devil Went Down to Georgia?'”

            Grif nodded and got to his feet. “'The Devil Went Down to Georgia.”

            Simmons quickly grabbed his rosin, flicked it twice across the bow before tossing the cube back into the case and standing.

            Grif twanged a few strings before stomping his foot four times and the two were off.

            “The Devil went down to Georgia, he was looking for a soul to steal,” Grif said. “He was in a bind 'cause he was way behind and he was willing to make a deal.”

            Grif circled Simmons as he spoke his lines, staking his claim as the “Devil,” Simmons turned slowly on the spot, keeping his eyes steady on Grif.

            “When he came across a young man, sawing on a fiddle and playing it hot, then the Devil jumped up on a hickory stump,” here Grif leapt on top of a metal case and stopped playing for a moment, pointing at Simmons as he drawled in his best Southern, “and said, 'Boy, lemme tell you what; I guess you didn't know it, but I'm a fiddle player, too! An’ if you care to take a dare, I'll make a bet with you. Now you play a pretty good fiddle, boy, but give the Devil his due. I bet a fiddle of gold against your soul, 'cause I think I'm better 'n you.'”

            Simmons stepped up to him, looking up with a glare at Grif as he continued to play.

            “The boy said, 'My name's Johnny and it might be a sin, but I'll take yer bet, you're gonna regret 'cause I'm the best that's ever been.'”

            Grif hopped off the small structure and the two circled each other again, singing together, surprisingly on key and in tune.

            “Johnny, rosin up your bow and play your fiddle hard, 'cause hell's broke loose in Georgia and the Devil deals the cards. And if you win you get this shiny fiddle made of gold, and if you lose, the Devil gets your soul!”

            The ukulele plucked, the violin sang as both readied for the next verse.

            “The Devil opened up his case and he said, 'I'll start this show,' and fire flew from his fingertips as he rosined up his bow,” Grif said, stopping the circling and stalked straight towards Simmons.

            Though the violinist didn't stop playing, he backed up.

            Grif continued, “then he pulled the bow across the strings and it made an evil hiss, then a band of demons joined in and it sounded something like this.”

            Simmons stopped playing, allowing Grif his solo and they both stopped moving their feet, except Grif, but his feet only tapped and stomped to add to his furious strumming. Simmons couldn't help being impressed with the quick fingers of the least quick person he's ever met. His heart sped with Grif's music, but it calmed as the solo came to an end. He swallowed and picked the violin back up to continue.

            “When the Devil finished, Johnny said, 'Well you're pretty good, old son,'” Simmons said, his voice getting stronger with each word and he took a step forward until he was right in front of Grif. “'But sit down in that chair right there and lemme show you how it's done!'”

            Grif backed off, watching Simmons carefully as the man lost himself in his part.

            “He sang, 'Fire on the mountain, run, boys, run!'” Simmons plucked at his instrument. “Devil's in the house of the rising sun! Chicken in the bread pan, pickin' out dough. Granny does your dog bite, no, child, no.'”

            Simmons played and played well, matching the part for the fiddle, the violin singing it so sweetly.

            Grif was so shocked that his jaw went slack and he almost forgot his part when Simmons finished.

            “The Devil bowed his head because he'd knew that he'd been beat,” Grif said, returning to strumming, Simmons played still, too, their eyes focused on one another, Grif dropped to a knee in front of Simmons. “And he lay that golden fiddle on the ground at Johnny's feet.”

            Simmons nearly ground his teeth, something about Grif's eyes and him kneeling at his feet...

            “Johnny said, 'Devil just come on back if you ever wanna try again,” Simmons reached down, gripping the edge of the chest plate to bring Grif back up.

            Grif gasped a little as he found himself suddenly face to face with Simmons.

            Simmons' lips brushed just over Grif's as he murmured. “'I done told you once, you son of a bitch, I'm the best that's ever been.'”

            Grif shuddered. Neither knew if Grif leaned forward or if Simmons pulled him close, but their mouths met, tongues touching, and they parted moments later, panting.

            Grif licked his lips. “He played-”

            They both gripped their instruments and they both played and sang.

            “'Fire on the mountain, run, boys, run! Devil's in the house of the rising sun! Chicken in the bread pan, pickin' out dough. Granny does your dog bite, no, child, no.'”

            They played their hearts out to the end, both playing their last chords with a flourish.

            Grif dropped his ukulele and moved in to kiss Simmons again, his hands in the red-brown hair. Simmons kissed back, also dropping the violin, gripping Grif's shoulders.

            “Hottest duo ever,” Grif murmured against his mouth.

            Simmons only hummed in agreement.

**Author's Note:**

> I've been told that a violin and a fiddle are the same thing, but Simmons would be the kind to make a big deal out of it :-P
> 
> Come visit me on [Tumblr!](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/soloshikigami)


End file.
